Sisters...Daughters...

My sister has been gone for two years now and sometimes I still go to the phone to call her. Or when I'm out shopping and find something that I think she'd like, I grab my cell phone to call her. She loved Christmas so I really do miss her at this time of year and I hate to even shop without her.

Yesterday, the universe cooperated and things fell into place for me to do some shopping with my youngest daughter who wallowed around more in my sister's DNA than she did mine. She had an appointment with her allergy doctor so we decided to make a day of it and find shoes for her to wear to my grandson's wedding on Saturday.

Nothing to that little job...right?

WRONG!!!

The first store that we went into didn't have shoes but it did have the cutest little dress with retro bell shaped sleeves. Black crocheted lace over silky cream colored lining and it fit her like it'd been tailor made for her. Perfect! Right? Nope, wrong again! Not just any old shoe would go with the dress so the shopping trip became a mission.

Second store. OMGoodness! The sign in the window advertised a big clearance sale. Forty nine thousand styles and only fourteen matched her dress. Thirteen pinched her toes and the last one flopped on her heel. But I did find a pair that I liked so it wasn't a total bust!

Third store. Nada. Nothing. Nil. Forget it. Everything had a six inch heel and a duck with ingrown toe nails would look better walking in those things that we would.

Fourth store. Not a thing but by this time we'd decided to look for a black bra since the lace on the top of her dress wasn't covered by that silky lining. And that's where all my sister's DNA rose to the top. We chose about a dozen black bras and toted them into the biggest dressing room in the whole store. Come on now! You know which one I'm talking about. That one that families take their little kids to so they can corral them so they can't get away while they're trying clothing on them. Where mamas go because there is a nice bench to sit on while their daughters try on a gazillion bras to find the right one for that cute little dress.

The dressing room was a time machine, transporting me back to those times when Sister and I tried on ridiculous "brand new" styles that would never look right on our bodies. Sister, Daughter and I are all vertically challenged but we make up for it in width so leggings are not our friends anymore than Spandex or short tailed skirts. And bras? Oh, sweet lord! They were definitely designed and created by men because no woman would make something as uncomfortable as those torturous things. I don't care if that little plastic thing that holds the strap in the back is shaped like a cute little heart...it still bites our fat cells. And that one that said ultimate comfort? Yeah, right! Maybe if the lady putting it on wore one of those things with a 32A on the tag and who didn't have a single extra little fat cell in her body. The only ultimate comfort in that expensive chunk of molded stuff was the moment it came off in the evening.

There was my daughter, trying to find the perfect bra for that dress and we were laughing so hard that I could feel Sister's spirit right there with us. I swear I even heard the mirror laughing and it didn't even shut up when we glared at it.

That got me to thinking about mirrors! Had Sister and I been in this same dressing room a couple of years ago? Did it remember us and had it missed her? Was it happy to see Daughter so it could have a few giggles to ease the pain of showing women who fussed and fumed when something didn't fit?

I hated to leave the dressing room but not one of those crazy bras fit and the store manager wasn't about to let us borrow a couple of pillows and a blanket and have a slumber party in there. So we blew kisses at the mirror and went on our way.

At the very last store we did find the perfect pair of shoes. And I swear I felt Sister smile!!